


The Wings of an Angel

by Rroselavy



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-30
Updated: 2010-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rroselavy/pseuds/Rroselavy





	The Wings of an Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freeradical9](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=freeradical9).



The room was dark when Hazel slipped in on a whisper of rustling poplin. His eyes hadn't had a chance to adjust to the dim ambient light when he felt a smooth cord encircle his neck and tighten. Instinctively, his hands clutched at his throat, fingers desperately clawing at the rope that was slowly asphyxiating him.

"Tut-tut, you never learn, do you?" a disembodied voice teased, breath causing Hazel's fine silk hair to flit away from the nape of his neck. "The more you struggle the tighter it gets."

Obediently, despite his instinct to struggle to free himself, Hazel stilled. Immediately the bonds loosened and he was spun around. Hands roughly yanked at his cassock until the single button holding the cape closed at his throat gave, then pulled at the placket; velvet-covered buttons tumbled to the Berber carpet beneath his feat with muffled _plops_. The silken cord that had been used to capture Hazel slipped harmlessly after them.

"Get rid of this, _now_." His client stepped back and Hazel tilted his head demurely, a hint of color coming to his cheeks.

"D'ya mind undoing the sash, Mr Ukoku?" Hazel asked demurely. Inwardly he chastised himself for not being properly prepared. But then again, it had been some months since he'd seen Mr Ukoku. In that time, Hazel had come to the conclusion that he wasn't coming back. He felt a tug at his waist as the broad belt was loosened and the length of material discarded.

He undressed slowly - coyly -- but rather than feel the powerful surge that he normally did when a man's eyes were trained on his slender, compact form, strangely, undressing in front of Mr Ukoku always made Hazel feel vulnerable and unsure of himself. Perhaps it was because of his unpredictable, hair-trigger temper. He heard Mr Ukoku take a seat in the armed chair in front of him. The _click_ of the switch on the table lamp beside Mr Ukoku flooded the room in soft incandescence, furthering Hazel's self-conscious exposure. He folded the garments neatly then laid them at his feet and then stood.

He tilted his chin, meeting Mr Ukoku's impassive gaze. "Turn around."

Hazel did as he was told.

"Your back has healed nicely," Mr Ukoku mused. "You've taken good care of it." Hazel blushed under the compliment and wondered if Mr Ukoku had brought his tools with him. The skin on his back tingled as he remembered the burning sensation, the vibrations that resonated in his bones. "Come here." When Hazel was standing between his parted legs, Mr Ukoku reached out, wrapping his fingers around a slender wrist. He tugged downward, insistently, until Hazel came to a rest on his knees. Ukoku's hands cupped Hazel's fine-boned face and he carded his fingers through the fine strands that framed his face.

"He had hair just like yours, Reverend Angel, only much, much longer."

"If ya want, darlin', I could wear a wig." Hazel replied, emboldened by the tender touches. The hands that had been so lovingly stroking Hazel's silvery wisps tightened in them until his scalp ached. "I just thought-" he whimpered.

"I don't pay you to _think_, darlin'," Mr Ukoku drawled softly, a perfect mimic of Hazel's intonation, before his voice took on a frightful edge. "Understand?"

Hazel nodded his head as best he could under the circumstances and, gradually, Mr Ukoku's fingers relaxed in their death-grip hold. Hazel shifted on his knees, deftly loosening the elegant embossed crocodile belt that held the finest loomed lightweight gabardine trousers snug to Mr Ukoku's waist.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned." Hazel's eyes traveled up the snug dress shirt to lock with deep indigo pools.

"How long has it been, my Son?" he answered, Mr Ukoku's heavy cock now captive in his hands. Delicate fingers expertly squeezed the turgid length, a thumb rolled smoothly over the glistening tip.

Mr Ukoku's arms fell slack at his sides and he sank back into the cushions of the chair in which he was sitting, a deep groan burbling up from his chest as Hazel's pale lips engulfed his dick and sucked it into the moist recesses of his talented mouth.

"Too long," he expelled in a breath. He tilted his chin toward the ceiling; the overhead light glinted off the thick lenses of his glasses.

Thin fingers once again found the fringe that framed Hazel's face and then softly stroked the smooth skin. Hazel allowed himself a small smile, now that he knew he was pleasing Mr Ukoku.

Hazel's mind wandered as he sucked Mr Ukoku's cock. He couldn't help but think of this mysterious other man who, even in death, held Mr Ukoku in such thrall. Koumyou had been his name. Sometimes Mr Ukoku whispered _his_ name when they were fucking.

Hazel would like to have known more about Koumyou, but he knew better to ask Mr Ukoku. The first time he made that transgression, Hazel had been lucky to escape with his life. As it was, the bruises Mr Ukoku had left on his skin had made it impossible to work for a couple of weeks. Fortunately, Mr Ukoku paid well for Hazel's services.

Fingers tightened over his jaw and Hazel allowed himself to be pulled away from his task. Mr Ukoku gazed down at him, and Hazel reached up, carefully removing his glasses. The smell of Mr Ukoku's arousal perfumed the air, eliciting a slow buildup of heat in Hazel's groin.

Mr Ukoku's hands slid over the smooth skin of Hazel's arms, caressing over his toned biceps before long fingers curled around the convex surfaces. Gripping the slender blond assertively, Mr Ukoku pulled him up.

Intuitively, Hazel knew what Mr Ukoku wanted. He turned his back to the spiky-haired brunet and straddled his lap. Hands curved over his hips and slowly guided Hazel, firmly impaling him on Mr Ukoku's cock. The burn from the friction was exquisite, Hazel's breath caught as he felt his passage stretch to accommodate the girth. Mr Ukoku's hands reverently traced over the fine lines etched in the skin of his back, sliding over Hazel's scapulas and tracing down his sides to momentarily settle at Hazel's hips.

Hazel breathed out a sigh as those hands wended around to toy with his blush, taut nipples. He leaned into this new sensation and Mr Ukoku leaned forward too, his lips meeting the adorned skin he'd just been caressing. Mr Ukoku never kissed him on the mouth. Hazel wondered if Mr Ukoku had ever kissed Koumyou on the mouth, but he didn't have much time to ponder that rumination as Mr Ukoku's hips had begun to thrust upwards, pistoning against Hazel's bottom in a frenetic pace. Each time Mr Ukoku drove inside Hazel his dick brushed against Hazel's hotspot, drawing a breathy moan from pale peach lips.

"Mr Ukoku, ... it feels so ... good!" Hazel purred between short gasps of breath. It was okay for him to speak freely now; in fact, he had the idea that his commentary about Mr Ukoku's skill -- which wasn't entirely made up - was a welcome addition. Soon the thrusts were accompanied by soft grunts and Hazel knew Mr Ukoku was nearing his completion. Mr Ukoku's hands slipped down Hazel's toned torso and one hand palmed his length, the other traced arabesques over the top of Hazel's pale thigh.

"Oh!" Hazel nearly yelped in his surprise. Mr Ukoku had never considered _his_ needs before, but here he was now, pumping away merrily as he thrust in and out of Hazel's channel. He dipped his head to view the sallow hand that slid over his ruddy cock. Mr Ukoku's tongue traced over the knobs of his upper spine and Hazel shivered from delightful sensation. The thrusts became deeper and more erratic and Hazel could feel the muscles tensing in the body underneath him. At the same time he was spiraling towards his own climax. He came, his hot seed splattering over his thighs. At least he didn't soil Mr Ukoku's nice trousers, he thought. As Hazel's muscles spasmed against Mr Ukoku's hard shaft, he felt the heat of his release coating his insides. Soon all the tension drained from Mr Ukoku's body and he held Hazel in a loose embrace as their breathing returned to normal.

"Lay on the bed, on your stomach. I've more work to do on your wings, Angel," Mr Ukoku murmured, his chin resting on Hazel's shoulder. He disentangled from the embrace and did as he was told, anticipation building. There was something far more intimate about what they did _after_ they fucked.

Hazel laid his head in his arms and relaxed, drowsily listening to Mr Ukoku setting up his equipment. The smell of his inks and the tincture of green soap permeated the air. He heard the rustle of paper as the sterile needle pack was opened and then cool, latex covered hands smoothed over his back before swabbing the skin with the antiseptic.

"Did you love him, Mr Ukoku?"

"Love who?" A switch was flipped and a soft hum filled the air.

Hazel hesitated before speaking, but his curiosity got the best of him. "Koumyou," he said finally, the name sounding strange spoken in the air between him. He held his breath and seconds ticked by. For a moment Hazel wondered if Mr Ukoku had heard him, or if he'd even spoken the name of the ghost that haunted their exchange.

"He was a priest," Mr Ukoku stated before he pressed the vibrating needle against Hazel's skin.

Hazel closed his eyes and considered that allowance as the now-familiar scratch of the needle etched his skin. He wondered idly what kind of a priest would become involved with a tattoo artist, but before he could let his thoughts stray to far, Hazel reminded himself that Koumyou was dead and he didn't mean as much to Mr Ukoku, he was just a substitute.

He wondered if Koumyou had let Mr Ukoku tattoo his back with such beautiful wings.


End file.
